The major spoke solemnly, with quite a rueful expression of countenance. Badly though he wanted the money his sister's death would bring, and estranged from him though she was, he could not and did not think of it in any spirit but a sad one. "I have heard from London two or three times lately, Edina, from my lawyer: John Street, you know. And in each letter he has given me a very poor account of Mrs. Atkinson. Her death, poor soul, must be very near." It had been nearer than the major, or even his lawyer, anticipated. She was dead even then. At the very moment the major was talking of her she was lying dead at Eagles' Nest. Had been dead three or four hours. The news reached them in the morning. A letter was delivered at Spring Lawn, and was carried up, as usual, to the major in bed. No one took any particular notice of the letter; as a rule, the major's letters were only applications from creditors, and could not be supposed to interest the household. Mrs. Raynor was seated at breakfast with her three elder children and Edina, when a sudden bumping on the floor above, and shouting in the major's voice, considerably startled them. "Good gracious! he must have fallen out of bed!" cried poor Mrs. Raynor. "And upset his coffee," said Charley, with a laugh. But it was nothing of the sort. The major had jumped up to dress in hot haste, and was calling out to them between whiles. He had received news of the death of his sister, Mrs. Atkinson; and was going up forthwith to Eagles' Nest. "Shall I go too, papa?" asked Charley. "I don't mind, my boy. I suppose we can scrape up enough money for the tickets." Of course the children were all in commotion. Alfred marched up to the nursery, and drew the blinds down. "What is that for, Master Alfred?" demanded nurse, who was dressing Kate's doll; Kate herself standing by to watch the process. "Ah, you don't know," replied Alfred, bursting with impatience to deliver his news, yet withholding it tantalizingly. "No, I don't," said the nurse, who was often at war with Alfred. "You will have the goodness, sir, to draw the blinds up again, and leave them alone." "I choose to have them down, nurse." "You will choose to walk out of my nursery in a minute or two," retorted the nurse. "Wait till I've fixed this frock on. It would be a precious good thing if you were at school, Master Alfred!" "But I am not going to school," cried Alfred, in irrepressible delight, the good news refusing to be kept down any longer. "I'm going somewhere else. Old Aunt Atkinson's dead, and papa has come into Eagles' Nest and a large fortune, Madam Nurse! And he is going up there so-day; and Charley's going; and we shall go directly. Eagles' Nest! Won't I have a pony to myself!--and a double-barrelled gun!--and a whole shopful of sweet-stuff!"